


the malice in the moon

by lackystars



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blood and Violence, M/M, Mystery, Pining, Post-High School, bit of angst, cryde - Freeform, like five years later, mentions of Creek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackystars/pseuds/lackystars
Summary: With just a single phone call, Clyde's life is thrown upside down. As a fresh graduate from the police academy, he's hoping for a career that's more than just issuing parking infringements. Clyde gets what he wants. A series of murders begin to occur in South Park, where the victims have drill holes in their heads and chests, leaving behind a message written in strange black goo.He only wishes that it didn't involve Craig Tucker, his best friend and the man he was hopelessly in love with.
Relationships: Clyde Donovan/Craig Tucker
Kudos: 12





	1. twilight blend

December 14th. 12:37 PM. With a sigh, Clyde picks up the phone. In the background, the rain slams against the windows, as the heavy dark clouds cast an inky gloom over the building. When he grasps the ugly black device, he can only think about how much he’d rather be at home, playing video games or watching a movie or jacking off. But as fate would have it, he was stuck here at the police station.

And at the tender age of twenty three, he’s only now starting to realize that this would be his life. Five, ten years from now, and he would still be behind this desk. Would he turn out like the rest of the police force, incompetent adults that only knew racism and bigotry? He hopes not. And really, hoping is all he can bank on. He can already feel his soul being sucked out of him, and it was only his third week here.

“You’ve reached Park County Police Station. This is Detective Donovan speaking, how can I help you?” Clyde says in a clipped tone, juggling the phone in one hand and a stack of paperwork in the other. What follows is a garbled mess of words. Clyde can only make out something like a meowing in amidst the shrill shrieking in the background.

However, there’s something vaguely familiar about the voice. It speaks in a whisper, but not a very effective one at that, like someone who’s been caught doing something questionable- that is, it could have been anything from stealing cookies from the cookie jar to planning a school shooting.

He narrows his eyes, letting the paper fall to his desk in a misshapen heap. He presses the phone against his ear. “Sorry, could you please repeat that?” he asks, not even bothering to hide the exasperation in his voice.

Still, he almost hopes it’s something trivial enough that gets him out of the station long enough to avoid his actual responsibilities. Like issuing yet another speeding fine. Once upon a time, Clyde felt guilty about doing such a thing, knowing that it’s something that he himself wasn’t immune to. But now, he’s become numb to it. He had to be.

“Cl-Clyde! You gotta come quick,” the voice exclaims, and it’s then that Clyde realizes that it belongs to Tweek. “I’m at the coffee house. Th-there’s this guy, he’s got a gun, and I don’t know what to do!” he stammers out.

Clyde blinks slowly. It takes him a moment to process what Tweek said. Another moment to realize that Tweek Tweak was actually speaking to him with an emergency on his hands, and not to shamelessly promote his new blend.

Moments that were probably flaring up the blonde’s anxiety. “I see,” Clyde eventually settles on.

He racks his brain for what he learned at the academy. An armed hold up situation. There were protocols to follow, rules to observe in order to prevent unnecessary conflict. Which promptly go out the window. All he comes up with is the stupid video he watched last night and how he bought strawberry donuts from Tweek Bros that very morning. They were still on his desk, a messy bite taken out of one of them. They paired quite well with the new Twilight Blend.

“Please calm down.” he adds, knowing that telling Tweek Tweak to ‘calm down’ was probably the worst thing to ever do. Still, he can’t _not_ try. A calm Tweek was highly unlikely, especially given the situation, but a small part of Clyde needs to tell Tweek to calm down or else he might start freaking out too.

After all the bizarre shit that went down in their mountain town, an armed holdup was comparatively tame- and that made it even scarier in a way. The brunette needs to gain some semblance of control, and apparently that involves saying the most blatantly obvious thing ever.

“C-Calm down?! Oh man, I’m trying, I really am! Why does this have to happen to me? Why now?” Tweek shrieks. “He’s going to shoot my mom and dad! And all the customers! Then I’ll probably have to clean up all the blood, but I’ll just slip on it and then the robber is gonna stab me with the cake knife while I’m down!”

“Take a deep breath, Tweek. Everything is going to be okay.” Clyde reassures, or at least tries to.

While he liked to think himself as someone who had a calming effect on people, Tweek was an entirely different case. He was always freaking out over the smallest of things, and honestly, Clyde could just not stand it at all. How Craig put up with it for so long was beyond him. And then, for some inexplicable reason, he suddenly remembers the offhand remark Craig once made about Tweek.

_“Yeah so uh, whenever he gets really panicky and shit, saying his name a lot helps calm him down. Kinda gives him that affirmation, you know?”_

Clyde figures it’s worth a shot. He continues speaking, already preparing to head out to the coffee house.

“Tweek, the robber probably just wants the money in the till. They’re not going to kill anyone unless they have a good reason for it. You won’t need to clean up the blood, Tweek. You’re not going to be stabbed by the cake knife, because why wouldn’t they just use the gun? So Tweek, I want you tell me what exactly happened. Are you in a safe spot right now?” he asks, keeping his voice level and steady.

It feels weird saying Tweek over and over, and he isn’t sure if it’s still a word, and he isn’t sure how he feels about comforting the blonde when that was usually Craig’s job.

“…Yeah. I am.” Tweek replies. A brief pause, and then he speaks. “I was at the back of the shop, just testing out some new blends. Then I heard a commotion going on outside. I quickly peeked out the door and saw a guy waving a gun around! He was arguing about something with Dad. All the customers are really freaking out!”

“What did the man look like?”

“I didn’t really get to see that much, but I think he has black hair. He’s about six foot. Really skinny. White.”

Clyde nods, even though it’s not like Tweek can see him, and hums something that sounds vaguely affirmative. “Alright, thanks Tweek. I’ll be there right away, okay? Just keep hiding, and whatever happens, don’t do anything rash. Listen to what the robber says.” he states.

He can hear a little yelp coming from the other line. “I-I’ll try! Please come soon!” Tweek whisper-screams.

And with that, Clyde hangs up. He stashes away the paperwork, adjusts his coat, and informs the rest of the team of the situation. When he says that the suspect is white, he can almost feel the relative humidity rise a percent or two, and he’s sure it’s because the thought of having to exercise proper judgement and not just shooting indiscriminately is appropriately sweat inducing.

Then he slides into his sedan, turns on the siren, and speeds his way down to Tweek Bros. The thought of being exempt from a speeding fine is mildly sobering. As his hands grasp the steering wheel, it feels like they might just slip off given how sweaty they are. This was his first high pressure situation. This wasn’t a simulation; this wasn’t just another problem in the book. This was real, and it involved one of his friends. The crack of thunder masks the pounding in his chest.

* * *

“This is the police! Come out of the building now! Put your hands up where we can see them!” Clyde declares through the megaphone. However, he isn’t prepared for how damn loud the thing is, and his ears pop in protest. Slightly dazed, he recomposes himself, keeping his eyes trained on the front entrance. No apparent response. But suddenly, he hears screaming coming from the building. His breath hitches at the sound. A woman. That could have been someone's wife. Someone's mother. All he knows is that he needs to protect her.

He glances to his left and right. Officer Ward and Officer Atkinson nod at him accordingly. They’re ready to infiltrate the coffee house. Clyde takes a breath, the gun in his holster feeling increasingly heavy. Then he leads the charge into Tweek Bros.

In hindsight, it was probably a terrible idea for the police station to send out a rookie on a mission like this. But Yates claimed that he needed the ‘experience’ and to see ‘what it’s really like.’ The sergeant isn’t exactly wrong, but Clyde gets the feeling that the reason he can say that so casually is because it’s hard for them to get sued. On the other hand, the potential threat to his life isn't all that significant. Or maybe Clyde just doesn't care. 

And while Clyde knows that he could fuck this up, he also knows that Tweek trusted him enough to rely on him. He can’t betray that trust, no matter what, and he doesn’t want to let the onus of this to fall on anyone else because it meant throwing away the little dignity he has left. Or maybe he’s just stupid. But he doesn’t have the time to debate the logic behind it all, only the time to act.

He bursts through his door, immediately scanning his surroundings. He needs to obtain information as quickly as he can- and while information wasn’t always knowledge, it was the first step in trying to defuse the situation. The coffee house looked the same as ever, beige walls adorned with paintings of coffee beans. The display case showed the same selection of treats he saw earlier this morning. The customers in the coffee house all wear the same, fearful expression as they hide under the tables and chairs.

But then his eyes land upon a hooded man looming over the counter, holding a Glock 22 in his hand. Clyde knows it's a Glock, because it's the same gun he himself wields. 

"That's all you fuckin' got? Hand it all over!" the hooded man spits at Richard Tweak. His wife is hiding behind him, cowering in fear.

Tweek was right, the suspect was rather slim. The dark hood conceals most of his face, but he can make out unkempt black hair. However, something here is wrong. Why the fuck does the robber sound exactly like Craig? Granted, the robber has a pretty good accent going on, but Clyde would never mistake that distinct nasal tone. 

"S-Sir, please. I'm telling you, this is really all we have." Richard murmurs, unable to hide the quiver in his voice. He hastily stuffs handfuls of cash in a bag and presents it to the robber, but he doesn't seem to be appeased in the slightest.

"Bullshit!" the man snarls. 

"That's enough," Clyde suddenly blurts out. He stares at the suspect. The black hair, the voice... it just had to be a coincidence, right? Then he swallows nervously. "Stop what you're doing. Step away from the counter, hands in the air." he says dryly. His voice is distant, and it doesn't even feel like the words belong to him.

The hooded man turns around. As he does, he grips Richard in a head lock, pushing the barrel of the gun against his temple. Richard's eyes go wide. 

"Or else, what? You're gonna shoot me? Go ahead if you want to see this man's head to go kaboom!" the robber sneers. 

_That's a good question,_ Clyde thinks to himself. But when he sees Atkinson and Ward train their guns on the man, his hopes of not having to answer said question rise. Which of course, only bites him in the ass. 

All of a sudden, two of the customers leap out from under the tables. Only that they're not really customers. They abandon their wigs which are very clearly a poor attempt at a disguise, but that's a minor detail when they have guns too. Which are pointed at him and his colleagues. Clyde kicks himself internally. Of course the robber wouldn't be alone. He should have known. _He should have known._

And now he's going to be shot to death in the middle of Tweek Bros, and Tweek really would have to clean up all the blood, and that meant Clyde would have lied to him, because things... might not be okay. And he thinks about his dad, having had to give an eulogy for his wife, and now his son. That was just sad.

They're in this strange stalemate, with Clyde pointing his gun at the hooded man, who was pointing his gun at Richard, while being pointed at by a gun from two middle aged men in god awful golf shirts. One wrong move, and this could turn ugly.

Clyde stares at the robber. He can make out cold blue eyes under the hood. Eyes that seemed strangely familiar. It's the final nail in a coffin he refuses to acknowledge that exists. 

"Let him go." Clyde says. He shouldn't even be attempting negotiation at this point. He should be shooting now. Shoot now and think later. That's what they told him to do. They told him that because it worked. But Clyde can't do that. If he doesn't think, then he'll shoot to kill. He needs to shoot to _disable._ He can't risk hitting Richard, though. He can't risk Richard's head getting blown off, either. 

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he doesn't have the luxury of deliberating his indecision. It happens in the blink of an eye. Tweek comes running out of the store room, a wild look in his eyes. He barrels into the hooded man, tackling him to the ground. "You leave my dad alone!" he screeches, slamming his fists into the other's face. 

Richard retreats and stands in front of his wife protectively. Meanwhile, Tweek continues grappling with the hooded man. Clyde stands there, shocked. But when he hears the sound of the assailant's gun scattering to the ground, right in front of him, he immediately kneels down to pick it up. 

In amidst the chaos, Ward and Atkinson immediately take the opportunity to subdue the two middle aged men. The crack of gunfire resounds in the room, accompanied by the screams of the other customers. Two quick, decisive shots. The men scream in pain, clutching their legs desperately. Blood begins to pool around them. 

"Stop! Just stop!" Clyde shouts, holding both guns up. 

The hooded man manages to shove Tweek off of him. Then he turns to Clyde. And smiles. He raises his hands up, slowly taking off his hood.

Clyde's heart skips a beat. There was no mistaking it. The slightly crooked nose, the scar just under his lip...

The black haired man, the person who held up Tweek Bros was none other than Craig Tucker. 

Tweek is just as shocked. "WHAT THE FUCK CRAIG!" he screams.

Clyde is glad that the blonde verbalised the general sentiment in the room because he might go actually insane if nobody else confirms what he's seeing. There are so many questions running through his mind, a stampede of thoughts that run him over mercilessly. He bites his lip, trying to quell the surge of emotions that threatened to overtake him. He really, really wants to cry.

_Isn't Craig supposed to be studying in Denver?_

_Why is he robbing his ex's coffee shop?_

_Why does he have a gun?_

_Who are those guys with him?_

_Why is his hair so messy?_

_Why is this happening?_

Suddenly, Clyde is overcome with a strange sense of calm. Or rather, forced apathy is more accurate. One that he had to employ in order to pass the gruelling psychological assessments they did in the police academy. Clyde closes his eyes, and when he opens them, Craig isn't there anymore, only a black haired man.

Clyde doesn't hesitate anymore. The target is about five metres away, he can't miss at this distance. He quickly turns the safety off, like he's done hundreds of times at the training range, and then pulls the trigger. He braces himself for the recoil. His shot lands Craig cleanly in the shoulder. 

Craig grunts in pain and goes down immediately. But he's still smiling. And that's the part that hurts the most. It twists the knife lodged deep into Clyde that he thought he got rid of five years ago. The smile was so gentle and carefree... it felt wrong. It was fucked up that Clyde's dream of seeing Craig smile for him came true like this. 

"I knew you could do it, Clyde." Craig murmurs softly, with nothing but affection in his voice. 

And that's when Clyde knows. This isn't Craig, his best friend, the man he fell hopelessly in love with. 

Something inside of Clyde snaps. He pulls the trigger again. And again. And again. None of the bullets actually hit anything. He made sure of it. But he needs to have that control. And all the while, that pained smile is still on Craig's face. 

Clyde throws up. He can't think. He's not sure if he can even breathe. And he's crying. The warm tears streak down his cheeks. "You're under arrest for armed robbery." he chokes out. 

"Yup." 


	2. expectations

The rain hasn't let up yet. As Clyde immerses himself in finally replying to all of his missed texts, the sudden shuffling of the bedsheets breaks him out of his stupor. He fidgets nervously, unable to look Craig in the eye. His best friend is lying in the bed, half naked and groaning slightly as he slowly wakes up. He rolls over on his side, his face turning to meet Clyde. He blinks slowly.

A small part of the rookie cop thinks Craig looks kinda hot like this. Just a small part. There are bruises scattered over his face where Tweek had struck him, and a good chunk of his torso is covered by bandages. His left arm is in a cast. It's definitely not what Clyde had expected to see when he came into work today, but at the same time, there was something oddly nostalgic about this. 

Back in high school, and even since elementary, Craig was prone to getting into fights. It wasn't a big deal or anything when it happened- well, for the person being punched it was. Someone would make fun of Tweek and they would receive a fist in the face from Craig Tucker for it. If you didn't know Craig, you wouldn't expect it coming from a guy like him. He was skinny and lanky. Had his nose in a book more often than not. A typical nerd by all means, and yet he had a mean left hook. It was almost like a chore for him.

Clyde was kinda glad, in a way. They would share glances in detention, brown eyes meeting blue across a room full of hormonal teenagers, knowing smirks and brazen smiles on their faces. Clyde was often there because of how he would skip classes, and sometimes, he did it on purpose if he knew Craig was going to be there that afternoon. Even when they sat in silence, unspoken messages of _'Dude, who'd you beat up now?'_ and _'Matt was messing with Tweek, he deserved it!_ hung in the air. And when detention was over, they would walk back to their houses.

It was a long walk, but that was okay, because it meant delaying the disappointed sighs that Clyde would inevitably receive from his father. Craig just straight up would not return home at all, opting to spend the night at the Donovan's house. It's not like his parents exactly cared, and in fact, they were probably relieved to receive word of these impromptu sleepovers, because it meant not having to acknowledge their son's behaviour for just a little bit longer. They lived right next door to each other, anyway. Still, Clyde was glad that his dad was a very accommodating man.

It was a routine. They would spend time together in Clyde's room, just talking. Craig would go on about Stripe, or the stars, or fucking Star Trek (the guy was actually pretty close to that Kevin kid), and Clyde would genuinely smile because these incredibly mundane things weren't so mundane when they came from Craig. Even though his voice had the quality of wet sandpaper, it was a voice that Clyde never wanted to stop hearing.

It was a time where Clyde could simply be with Craig in peace.

But routines can be broken. Clyde knows this. He always has. Stepping out of the comfort of memories, Clyde glances at Craig. He really wants to hug him right now. Or hold his hand. He needs that physical reassurance that Craig is here and alive, and not just a ghost he hears about here and there on social media. So he settles on touching Craig's upper arm- the arm that isn't injured, of course. It's a gesture that comes across as more awkward than affectionate.

The two share a glance.

"You're awake." Clyde says plainly. It was about 6PM now. According to the nurse, Craig had fallen asleep for a few hours after the surgery. It was a smooth operation, only requiring stitches, but it was likely that Craig would still feel the effects of the anaesthesia. It was kind of bizarre hearing that, as if it was just a treatment for some random disease he looked up on the internet out of sheer boredom. Clyde did put a hole in Craig's shoulder. 

He only vaguely remembers what happened after the incident. Only that he had vomited and was probably being an uncomfortable embarrassment to everyone in the coffeehouse. He didn't speak as he handcuffed Craig and then promptly performed emergency first aid on his gunshot wound, but the tears were doing all the talking.

The movements felt mechanical as Clyde quickly staunched the bleeding. It could have been intimate, in a way. But there was nothing romantic about having to treat your best friend after having just shot him. He bled like everyone else. He grunted in pain like everyone else. There was nothing special about it. 

As much as Clyde wanted to stay by Craig's side, he knew he had to immediately return to the police station and write a report, updating everyone of the situation. He could only watch helplessly as the paramedics took him away. The urge to just sneak onto the ambulance overwhelmed the little rationality he had left.

Craig _needed_ him there, now more than ever. Clyde didn't want to leave him alone in the hands of strangers that didn't _get_ him the way that Clyde did- even if they were highly qualified professionals far better equipped to prevent any further complications. Craig needed a friend with him.

And... so did Clyde. He hated everything about this. At times like this, he would go venting to Craig, but that clearly wasn't an option.

The remaining hours were a blur. They seemed to drag on for far too long, and on more than one occasion, Clyde wished it was over. The rest of his shift was filled with endless witness accounts, endless gossiping, and endless paperwork. Endless buzzing from his phone. The other officers would offer the rookie sympathetic looks. Clyde was sick of it all. He wrote his report, only offering the bare minimum.

As soon as the clock hit 5, he bolted out of the police station and headed for Hell's Pass Hospital. He didn't care if he had to do overtime, he wanted to see Craig as soon as possible. He gripped his steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. It was another case where he was glad he could get away with speeding and he was sure he ran a red light or two.

"Why are you here?" Craig asks. He doesn't look at Clyde when he speaks, opting to play with the remote for the television. 

An incredulous look appears on Clyde's face. "What do you mean, why am I here? You just got shot! I'm here to make sure you're doing okay." he says.

Craig looks at him directly. "You shot me." he states bluntly.

Craig's dark blue eyes remain as piercing as ever, and while Clyde could once spend forever looking for constellations in them, he's forgotten how to now. Five years would do that. Clyde is honestly glad that they have reverted to their icy default, because for a brief moment, when he had shot Craig, they had taken on a warm, kind, light. As if Craig was proud of him. For shooting him. Which was fucking ridiculous, and yet, Clyde would not deny how he longed to be looked at by Craig like that. Just... not under these circumstances. 

So he looks at everything, anything else. He stares at the black shoes that his father lovingly gave to him. He stares at his hands, skin rubbed raw from the harsh sanitiser he applied liberally, and even though the crimson stains were gone, he could still almost feel Craig's blood on them. It was warm and sticky and it felt horrible knowing that he had caused it. But what was worse is that he hadn't hesitated at all.

Now that he's taken a moment to breathe and think things through, it's all coming back to him. Being swept over by emotion that words couldn't even begin to describe as his finger pulled the trigger. He doesn't even know why he did it, really. He told himself he would only shoot when it was absolutely necessary, to prevent the loss of further life.

But at the time, it was the only thing he _could_ do. As if shooting Craig would grant him the closure he desperately desired, after five years of cold dismissive messages and being left on read that culminated in the steely finality that was, _fuck off Clyde, I don't want to talk to you._

The brunette was ready to throw his emotions under lock and key, at least until he finishes the interrogation. That was his job. But now, when's it just the two of them in this cramped ward, he isn't sure what to feel. He wasn't Detective Donovan, but he couldn't be Craig's best friend either. Craig was a criminal. No matter how his brain came up with theories to tell him otherwise, that one fact was undeniable.

He just wants to know why. Why Craig thought it was a good idea to commit a crime. Why Craig is here in South Park in the first place. Why the universe decided to screw him over with a reunion like this.

There's a silence between the two, and the tension is unbearable. So Clyde decides to break it by bursting into chest heaving sobs again. It's awkward, but at least it's a familiar sort of awkward, the type that Craig knows how to deal with. 

"Stop crying, you idiot." Craig mutters. "I'm not worth crying over." he says. Then he tries to sit up and pat Clyde comfortingly on the back. Bad decision. He winces in pain, and his disabled arm is just kinda... there.

"I can't, you asshole." Clyde sniffles. He rubs his eyes, slightly disgusted with himself at how he's cried more in these past few hours than he has in this entire month. "Stop being such a melodramatic bitch. I just want to know. Why?" he asks. He looks Craig in the eye.

Craig looks away. "Well, why not? Maybe I just decided to rob Tweek Bros for the fun of it."

Craig's clearly avoiding the question, and it stings. He doesn't even trust Clyde enough to tell him. But Clyde doesn't give up. He tries to come up with reasons for his best friend's actions. "Is- is it because of money? You should have told me, we could have worked something out!" he exclaims. They both know it's a pretty weak explanation. Craig wasn't exactly poor, and even if he was, he was too proud to attempt a robbery.

Craig has the audacity to actually roll his eyes, and at this point, Clyde doesn't know if he wants to punch him in the face or just cry even harder. "No, Clyde. I wouldn't stoop that low, and especially not because of something like money." he replies. "It's just..." he trails off. 

"Then why?!"

"You wouldn't understand." 

Clyde clenches a fist. It was always some variation of _'you_ _don't get it,' 'you don't understand,'_ and it pissed Clyde off so much. This was the part of Craig he hated. It made him come across as such an insufferable dick. But it was always a part of him that he was willing to look over. Love made you blind like that.

But not now, not anymore. "You're right, I wouldn't. Because you never fucking tell me anything. Maybe if you actually tried to communicate once in your goddamned life, I _would_ understand."

"It's not that simple."

"Maybe it is, Craig. Don't you dare try and put words in my mouth, dude. You're always like this. Pushing people away, and for what? Don't act like I'm incapable of listening to you, of being your fucking friend."

Craig sighs. "I'm sorry."

Clyde narrows his eyes. "Sorry for what?" 

"Sorry for ignoring you after we graduated high school. And for being a dick in general." he says. 

Clyde knew Craig could be dense. Not this dense. "Wh-what? No, this isn't about that! I mean yeah, you did fucking abandon me and it kinda hurts, but you know, I got used to it. I could deal with the pain if you kept pretending I didn't exist. Because... I did the same thing. But Craig, I could never forget you, not matter how much I wanted to!"

"Of course you have to come back to South Park, and of course you have to fucking go and try to rob a coffee shop. Do you know what it's like having to deal with Tweek freaking out over the phone? Do you know what it's like having to point a gun at your best friend?"

He forces himself to take a deep breath. "Craig, don't you realize what you've done? You attempted armed robbery! And you had accomplices. Do you know what that really means? Years in prison, and I can't get you out of it!" he exclaims. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to stop himself from saying more. He's already said too much. 

Craig smirks a little. "Wow, that's quite the speech. Where's the no homo?"

Clyde is too angry to get embarrassed. "This isn't a joke, Craig! I didn't want us to meet like this!"

"I know," Craig sighs. "But I don't regret this at all." he says. His voice is strong, cold and without emotion. "I did what I had to. There's something going on, and I have to get to the bottom of it."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I swear to god Craig, cut the vague bullshit out and just _tell_ me!"

"I can't."

Clyde groans in frustration. "If you can't tell me now, then maybe you'll tell me when you're locked up in a cell. I really don't want to have to do this, Craig."

"Then don't. You can just walk away from this case and leave it up to your senior officer or something." Craig replies with a shrug. There's a questioning look on his face. "Why are you a police officer, anyway? You're not exactly cut out for it."

Clyde would feel offended if anyone else had told him that, but because it's Craig, he doesn't care. He was always brutally honest like this. "Why does it matter to you, huh? What are you even doing here? I thought you were off studying chemistry or some shit." he deflects, changing the topic. There's a part of him that wants nothing more than to tell Craig about why he decided to join the police. But now wasn't the right time or place for it.

"Back for the holidays." Craig answers. 

"You weren't here for Thanksgiving. Or Christmas last year. Or for the year before that. Or anything, really. So why did you come back now?"

"Something came up."

Clyde snorts derisively. "Of course it did. Whatever, it doesn't matter."

Suddenly, the door to the ward opens. Tricia Tucker steps in.

"Craig." she says dryly. Then she notices the other man in the room. "And Clyde."

"Tricia." Craig says in an equally dry voice.

"I was thinking about getting you flowers," Tricia begins. "But you're only here for the night. And then it's off to the police station. So flowers would be kind of pointless. Plus, you just got shot. It's not like you're in a coma or anything. You don't even like flowers. But at least I can say I tried." she says nonchalantly, as if she was just discussing the weather.

"Gee, thanks."

"I should get going." Clyde says. He turns to leave. He's glad for the opportunity to escape. At least Tricia would act as a sort of buffer. He feels like if he stays here any longer, he might say something he'll regret. 

"See you, Clyde. You should really get home. Your dad is worried sick." Tricia says.

"I'm sure he is." Clyde sighs. He turned off his phone earlier, unable to deal with constant stream of texts and missed calls. He exits the room, but not without one last remark. "Oh, and Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"You really need a haircut." he spits out. 

* * *

When he gets home, Clyde realizes he's really hungry. He unlocks the front door and makes a beeline for the fridge. The only thing he's eaten all day are strawberry donuts and coffee. He didn't have the stomach to eat his sandwich for lunch. The mouthful of bread he tried to keep down only made him want to gag. He takes out some orange juice, and drinks it straight from the bottle. It's gross, but he doesn't really care. He's pretty sure his father did it too. Speaking of which.

"Clyde." Roger says. He shifts his glasses up, almost nervously. "Are you okay, son?"

"No, not really." Clyde replies honestly. The orange juice in his mouth tastes bitter.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"...Not really." 

"Okay."

It's times like these that Clyde wishes that his mother was alive. She would know what to say. She would know what to do. And she wouldn't have to ask if Clyde was 'okay' and force an answer out of him. She would just know. Don't get him wrong, Clyde loved his dad. But Roger wasn't exactly the most emotionally equipped to handle a situation like this. Clyde wasn't able to freely cry in his dad's arms, like he once did with his mother. Especially not at the age of twenty three. 

"What's for dinner?" Clyde asks, changing the subject. Dwelling on what happened wouldn't be healthy for anyone. 

"I was thinking tacos. There was some really fresh ground beef at the market, and it was on sale too!"

"Sounds great," Clyde says with a smile, and it was true. Compared to what happened today, the promise of tacos was genuinely a blessing. It was his favourite food, one that Roger would cook up whenever his son was down- and for that, Clyde was really grateful. "I'll help you cook."

"Huh? Oh, no need. Just rest up in your room. You must be tired."

"I'm fine, really." Clyde says. Sure, he might have been a crying, blubbering mess, but it's not like he wasn't capable of functioning. 

Thankfully Roger got the hint. "Alright. Can you help prepare the salsa?"

"Got it."

Dinner was a quiet, but enjoyable affair. As the two ate, they made small talk over the new blends at Tweek Bros, how business was going at the shoe shop, and how Stan had plans to open a veterinary clinic with his boyfriend Kyle. The topic of Craig Tucker did not come up at all. The tacos were comfortingly cheesy, and deliciously unhealthy in all the right ways. His dad had gotten much better at cooking over the years.

Clyde does the dishes and then heads up to his bedroom. It was the same one he's had ever since he was a kid. It was his little sanctuary away from everything when it all got a bit too much. It was the place where Clyde slowly fell for his best friend. 

He takes out his phone and decides to call someone he hasn't called in a while.

Crystal picks up on the first ring. "Oh, Clyde! How are you doing?" 

Crystal was older than Clyde by nine years, and while the age gap made them grow up a bit differently, they were still close for siblings. She had left the nest a long time ago and never looked back. A successful woman, and a mother of two kids.

"Doing fine. How's California treating you?" 

"Oh, same old, same old! A patient at work today was bitching about how all the fluoride in the water was poisoning the people. I didn't study my ass off at dental school to be mansplained by some old guy!"

"Haha, yeah. You coming home for Christmas?"

"I can't make it, unfortunately. James is all caught up with work, and I have to look after the kids."

"That's a shame."

A brief pause, followed by the soft voice of his sister. "Hey Clyde... are you okay? You sound a bit, well, depressed."

Clyde sighs. "You think?" he asks, more to himself if anything. So many people had pointed it out, as if he wasn't painfully aware of it himself. "I guess... I'm feeling a bit lost." he admits. "I just don't know what to do."

"I see... what happened?"

Clyde doesn't exactly want to get into the details. It's not like his sister could anything about it. "I shot someone. Craig. I don't know if it was the right thing to do. I mean, I had to, but...

"Hmm." Crystal hums. "But that's exactly why you became a police officer, right? While anyone can own a gun, not everyone has the conviction to actually use them for what they're really for. It's easy to take a life, but it's harder to protect one." 

"Yeah. But, if I keep doubting myself, then I'll fuck up when it really matters."

"Don't worry about things that haven't happened! Just keep your head up, and do your best. I know if you really put your heart and soul into it, you can make a real difference."

"Ugh. That's so sappy." Clyde groans. 

"Anything for my baby brother," Crystal laughs. "You still have feelings for Craig?"

"...Yeah. It's dumb, but I just can't get him out of my mind. It's not even entirely romantic and shit. I just really miss him. I miss my... best friend. All the good times we shared."

"Is he the one you want to protect?"

"What?"

"Everyone has their own version of justice, you know. And if that means putting everything on the line for the person you love, then nobody can take that away from you. Only you can decide if what you did was right or wrong."

"Huh... okay." 

"But you know Clyde, you can't keep living in the past. People change, and when they do, they become strangers. When your expectations of them aren't exactly what you remember, it can lead to resentments. And expectations don't disappear that easily."

For some reason, Clyde suddenly recalls a conversation he once had with Craig in fourth grade. He was talking about how he went to counselling with Tweek and that one new kid. Mr Mackey had basically said the same thing. And then he had them promptly beat up some kids. Clyde wasn't sure if he believed it, but at the same time, he wouldn't put it past his old school counsellor.

"Jeez, did you also wail on some Accusations?" he laughs bitterly. If only he had a therapist that let him beat up innocent children, maybe he wouldn't be stuck with these stupid gay feelings.

"What? Anyway, starting over can be hard, but you know what? It just means you fall in love with them all over again. You don't have to forgive or forget. But some people are worth that second chance." 

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Crystal."

"No problem."

The two make some more small talk before eventually saying their goodbyes. Clyde plops onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling. As much as he wants to lay there and melt into nothingness, he knows he should take a shower. He had an early shift tomorrow, and if he really was going to interrogate Craig, then he should at least try not to smell like regret and tacos. 

He takes his shower, making the water as hot as it can possibly be. It scalds his skin, leaving it red and raw as he furiously scrubs his body. It hurts, but he doesn't really care. Suddenly, the bathroom light goes out. The room is pitch black, but it lasts only for just a moment. It flickers back into life soon enough. _Weird,_ Clyde thinks to himself.

When he steps out of the shower, he's overcome with a strange sense of foreboding. Something was wrong. He can't explain it, but it's like the butterflies in his stomach have turned into rocks. He notices something on the mirror, written in the condensation.

**Craig Tucker is gone. I ate him.**


End file.
